Author of quotes: Victoria ROA. Page 2

It is not peculiar to me. It's so strange to me. Feeling passion for someone else's man. Not my man. To the boss, but not lover. To the head, but to my bed man.

This night made me burn and burn to the ground, exhausted from his own passion, and memories of him.

Although, when I was fifteen I got myself a few tattoos (did not know about the parents). One of which was obscene, I didn't see this as a manifestation of sexual desire. It was an easy hobby. To paint the body a different picture, as the fascination with body art. Not a bear, nothing but vivid entertainment.

How it all began? I often think about that and forgot what the length of the way I was going to care for all of love. Why do I have to be ashamed of? Why am I supposed to be ashamed of what's happening, bitch in my life?

After he smokes a cigarette, leaving me to finish. This is also a kind of trust.

You could attack me at once, to tear me to shreds, but no...you're used to playing. You're sweet, because you are a stranger.

We're afraid of you sometimes view each other, but like two addicts trying to get drunk, but only if you start to overdose, then we just burn our hearts. I recognize that you're my owner, my master, my protector and all I can give myself the shot. Give yourself like the top jackpot that you bet on the game with life. Only you make my ice burns, and uspevaesh it to the end. Your flames are able to incinerate me, able to burn me. I'm ready to burn.

Cheapest room of a roadside Motel where the truckers and the different drifter was our favorite place to given the same "dirty" passion. Today we will not be lovers, they want to the pain to bite your hands when desire settles on the bottom of the abdomen. Today we are just people that want to have sex. It's strange because after all this is a natural act, I'd feel unfinished. Like half of juicy fruit that was squeezed, but not to the end.

Seem to add cognac to coffee is kind of a vicious habit.

To leave, to drop everything and fly, but only how far it will fly when torn wings? I just want to stand next to him, burying her face in his shoulder and inhale the scent of his body deeply. That would be the highest point of my pleasure, which only can allow yourself to be filled with power of the mind, like mine. From the constant menthol my very erotic hoarseness, but only he catches my lips my smoke and dissolves it in seconds.

My boss, my man, my forbidden fruit, my punishment. I could be the best of his women, but I'm just the submissive. Why? Bird rights oblige you to be as submissive as anyone else. Most likely, to blame my fatigue to live in that world, adult issues, and I consciously found Herman, but then why did I swallow the tears of pain in his every word? All will eventually wear out: the body, the things I do. But there is one "but"...what will he do with me when I'd come apart at the seams, as the most tender to the body of the home shirt?

I shudder to think about what I'd be without the pain that he gives me every day with his presence. Why of all women he chose me as the object of his desire, and why do I let myself burn out like a match at the sight of this strictly sight? The morning starts with coffee. The boost drink, and ends with a gentle kiss from me. It's already a ritual, and I couldn't do anything better than just to go hang myself to end all the unhealthy relationship between us. But he's my blue-eyed boy, and I'm a good girl. Unhealthy thing. It is just as unhealthy, but I'm a prisoner of his gaze, his whisper dirty words. I burn with shame when, roughly holding me by the hair to his torso, he makes me squirm from a sweet whisper: "you Little bitch".

In sex, he knew his element, seemed to have discovered my main talent. To be sadistic with me his role outside the family, and games with the kids, waiting for daddy after work with a bag of candy, but he calls his wife, apologizing asks her not to be angry, and Recalling the big locked in the office with me. With me. With a simple assistant that once told him: "Yes", and embarked on the path of foul play against his own happiness.

And each time jamming during your brightest orgasm my throat, he growls like a wild beast. The predator that killed its prey, and can now bite off a piece of red meat. His gaze becomes different. Stranger. Unlike him.